


Pur

by petitebegonia



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Affection, Childhood Trauma, F/F, Hannibal is Will's mother, I don't know what this is I am so sorry, Implied/Referenced Incest, Loneliness, Mother-Daughter Relationship, genderbent Hannigram
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:47:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26875423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petitebegonia/pseuds/petitebegonia
Summary: I'm glad you are a girlI'm pleased to know youI like you for youI'm happy you're growing up
Relationships: Mentions of Hannibal Lecter/Original Male Character(s) - Relationship, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Willow Graham/Annabelle Lecter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Pur

**Author's Note:**

> Title and quote in the description taken from the Cocteau Twins' song, Pur. This is just a little snippet of what I think their dynamic would be like in this scenario. There's implied incestuous feelings between Willow (fem! Will) and Annabelle (fem! Hannibal) if you squint, so if that kind of content triggers you, please do NOT read this. I hope you enjoy this mess.

Annabelle Lecter is an intimidating woman.

She’s got her chestnut curls perfectly placed streaming down her neck, not a single hair out of place, with a tweed blazer and matching pencil skirt hugging her curves tightly. She never raises her voice, the calmness and determination in every word she says always sends chills down Willow’s spine.

Willow was sitting on the grey Saxony carpet in front of Annabelle, who was gracefully spread on a beige Victorian sofa. The little girl made a pretty picture, all doe-eyed in an oversized white blouse, plaid skirt and two red ribbons gracing her wild locks. She looks up from the book she was reading, giving her mother a sheepish smile as the woman pets her hair gently. Annabelle stared into the icy blues that resembled not her own sharp and hazel stare. She definitely didn’t get them from her father, the woman thinks to herself as she looks back at the foolish but handsome French man she had a one-night stand with the night she was conceived with her Willow. He made a damn good 𝓈𝓉𝑒𝒶𝓀 𝒶𝓊 𝓅𝑜𝒾𝓋𝓇𝑒, but that was not his gaze, no. 

Those eyes made her think of how small and fragile Mischa was as she held her lifeless body in her arms. She spent years trying to forget her rhythmic childish laughter and gentle sapphire eyes. Annabelle kept a stoic expression but the thought made her hand tighten around Willow’s neck and her other arm gently leading the little girl up from the ground and on her lap.

The older female was glancing at her daughter’s scrapped knees peaking from the knee high-socks she wore, gently tracing them with her chilly fingers. The small girl shivered at her mother’s touch. The house was always cold, no matter the weather. It felt as though there was an unspoken-of mist in the air, a presence of an unknown entity draining every bit of warmth that dared come inside the spacious Lecter manor. Willow’s dainty hand went to her mother’s face and gently stroked her cheek before kissing it. There were no other hands to touch Annabelle, no other admiring gaze she was interested in feeling on her skin. 

The woman wanted to push her daughter off, to punish her for making her weak, vulnerable. To look down on her with ruthless eyes, like she would do to anybody else. But somehow, she never did so. She only smiles and leans in to return the kiss, a red tint now gracing Willow’s delicate features. Annabelle stared at the flimsy girl, her possessive embrace tightening around the blushing little girl. It's been a long time since she's held such a frail little thing in her arms, denying herself the pleasure of wounding it. And she wasn't planning to. Not for now at least.


End file.
